Misunderstood
by Wannabe-creative-author
Summary: Sherlock deduces Johns behaviour and finds out something interesting...  Contains S/J slash.
1. Chapter 1

It was a cold, rainy october-night outside of Baker Street 221b.

Sherlock had curled up on the sofa, cloaked in his grey dressing gown, nose buried in a thick book about advanced forensics.

John had settled down on his opposite, sitting crosslegged in the black leather chair, laptop in his lap.

It was quiet, but not an uncomfortable kind of silence. Both of them minded their own business.

Until Sherlock broke the spell.

"I´m quite flattered."

"Huh? By what?"

"By your recent fascination of my person."

John just stared at him very irritated by the sudden statement.

"You´ve been staring in my direction for precisely five minutes.", Sherlock started explaining the twisted ways of his mind.

"It was either me or the book I´m reading that grabbed your interest, and since I don´t suppose you have developed a passionate affection towards the science of forensics it had to be me who occupied your thoughts."

He smiled at John as if to say `You know I´m right´.

John twitched slightly at the last words and looked down, blushing.

"I... uh... um I wasn´t...", but before John could even begin a proper sentence Sherlock interrupted him.

"Don´t deny it John. You often watch me when you think I don´t notice it."

John was now beet red, eyes openend wide like a deer exposed to a headlight, full of fright what would happen next.

Sherlock could see that his heart was pounding a fast beat in his chest.

For a few seconds there was silence again.

"So I _am_ right."

Silence.

"The question now is, why are you doing it? I am neither young or old enough to require constant surveillance. Nor am I in constant danger to fall off a cliff anytime.

So could you please enlighten me and explain yourself?"

Again John just looked at him, this time confusion clearly showing on his face.

"So?"

After several seconds John slowly began to speak, his voice shaking slightly. "You really don´t get it." It was not a question but a surprised statement.

"I don´t get _what_?", Sherlocks voice sounded a bit angry, impatient.

John gulped. His heartbeat was still up. So was his breathing. His hands fiddled at the sleeves of his striped jumper.

Why was he so nervous? He almost behaved like Molly. Being nervous without any cause.

"You´re really bad at social matters" it should come out jokingly but the little laugh accompanying it was just a farce. It showed even more how antsy John felt inside.

"Then clear me up!"

"Well... I... I don´t know... it´s... you could find out if you just tried to..."

"So you´re giving me a riddle?" Sherlock asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Kinda..."

"Good. Let´s see...", Sherlock said calmly "You observe me on various occasions for a short period of time. You think I don´t notice it, so it´s obvious you don´t want me to know.

You also get very nervous when I mention it. Your face colour changes from normal to crimson...

Well, I´m really quite unused to dealing with social affairs, but I would say you have developed a sexual interest towards me.

Which is a bit surprising since you stated clearly that you´re not my date towards the restaurant-keeper when we first met.

Also you´re going out with Sarah on a regular basis."

John looked down, and Sherlock knew he had hit home.

"What are we gonna do about it then?"

John looked up again right into his eyes. A mixture of surprise and fright showed on his face.

What was he expecting? That Sherlock would be disgusted? Throw him out of the flat?

"So you wanna do me. That´s OK. I could as well try it out. Maybe it´s a distraction from that damn boredom."

He said that while opening his dressing gown and tossing it on the floor.

John still hadn´t said anything, so Sherlock kept on talking.

"I assume you too have no sexual experience with men? Or was that the reason you joined the army? Only men?

No, or else you wouldn´t go out with Sarah..."

"Clung"

That was the sound of the door snapping into place.

Sherlock hadn´t seen John leaving. He had been pulling his black T-Shirt over his head.

Now the flat was empty besides him and the silence had returned.


	2. Chapter 2

The night was cold and it had begun to drizzle again.

Unfortunately he hadn´t had time to get his coat and an umbrella.

But it didn´t matter anyways. John just wanted to get out of there. Out of the flat that he shared with the biggest dork on earth.

What had he expected? Sherlock whispering `I love you, too´, and a Hollywood-Kiss?

Ridiculous!

All of that was ridiculous!

Sherlock would be Sherlock. That was as sure as the earth rotated around the sun. Ironically he didn´t even know that.

"Oh God!", he exclaimed and walked even faster to wherever, just far far away.

He wrapped his arms around himself against the cold wind.

People crossing his way shot him strange looks. A man in a striped jumper without jacket although it was raining heavily now, half stomping half running, looking distressed had to be an unusual sight.

That´s what Sherlock was doing to him. He made John do strange things. Like running out into the rain without a jacket. Or following him around like a little puppy, eager to impress him, or at least don´t look dumb.

Or falling in love with him. Slowly. Nearly unnoticed.

He had never had feelings for a man before and at first he had shrugged it off as mere fascination for Sherlocks brilliant deduction skills.

But the more time he spent with Sherlock the more he realised that it was something deeper. He wanted to be near him, touch his skin, feel his lips on his own...

Oh how cheesy that sounded! It was embarassing. But undeniable. He was in love with Sherlock Holmes.

Sarah was just a desperate try to distract him. A hope that he had just imagined his feelings. He knew that it wasn´t fair to treat her this way, but she had asked him out, and he had been confused and a bit frightened...

His mind was just one big chaos. Thoughts tumbling up and down, back and forth.

He had reached a completely empty street. Just one lantern was spending a little light. He didn´t know where he was, nor did he really care.

Exhausted from his long walk, or better run, through half of London, as it seemed to him, he shuffled over to a broad entrance of an old victorian house.

There he sat down. It was dry, but still freezing cold. He curled up against the wall which helped a little. His head sank on his knees.

And there, in an empty street on a cold october-night John Watson silently began to cry.


	3. Chapter 3

It was about two o´clock in the morning when Sherlock heard steps on the stair.

So John hadn´t gone to Sarah´s. Just like he had expected.

Well, how could he? John wasn´t a good actor, his face was as easy to read as an open book.

And he clearly wouldn´t want to explain his emotional state to Sarah of all people.

He would probably also feel guilty towards her. He was an honest and loyal man and hated to lie to, or betray people.

The steps had reached John´s bedroom that lay opposite of his own.

The doctor tried to make no sound, probably believing Sherlock to be asleep, but he could still hear him.

With a faint `click´ the door closed.

Several minutes of rustling. Then silence.

And Sherlock still lay awake.

Thinking. As always.

About thirty minutes had passed when there was sound from the other bedroom again.

The door was opened carefully and shut again. Bare feet tiptoed down the stairs.

When they didn´t come back after five minutes, Sherlock got up and followed.

He, in contrast to John, had learned to be absolutely soundless when moving.

When he came downstairs he saw that the kitchen door was opened a crack. He remembered having shut it before he went to bed, so John had to be in there.

Peeking round the corner proved his assumption.

John sat at the small table, back to him. He had exchanged the black-white jumper he had worn earlier for a white T-shirt. His hair was wet. So he had been wandering around for a while in the rain.

In front of him stood a steaming cup of tea.

"Two miles is a bit far for an evening stroll."

John spun round, nearly knocking over his tea. His eyes were red and swollen.

He had cried. Quite unusual for a military man.

John kept quiet and quickly looked away. Probably not wanting Sherlock to see he had been weeping.

Although he hadn´t asked, Sherlock started explaining "There is a building site on Belsize Grove, red sand everywhere, saw it on the footprints you left on the stair."

The other man just nodded absentmindedly and gave his tea more attention than it actually needed.

Sherlock leaned against the kitchenette.

For a minute none of them said a word.

"I hurt you." A calm statement.

John looked up. Their eyes met. A slow nod.

"How?"

"It doesn´t matter, I was... well it was dumb of me to think that..." his voice broke.

After a few seconds he tried again. "I... I´ll be moving out tomorrow."

"Why would you do that?"

"Why? Well after all that was...said tonight, I think this is for best." he looked into the depths of his cup like it was the most interesting of phenomena.

"John", he flinched at the mentioning of his name "I am not a man who experiences confusion very often, and I _really_ don´t like it! I don´t get what I did wrong.

I deduced that you had intentions towards me and I offered you to try it out. So what?"

He didn´t even look up.

"It´s not as easy as you think."

"Why not?", Sherlock demanded.

"Just forget it... I was being silly, nevermind."

"So you don´t want to see me naked."

"Oh Sherlock stop it!" John had jumped up from his seat.

They were now standing face to face, just about two feet apart.

"Then what?" Sherlock threw his arms in the air in a theatrical gesture.

"It´s... it´s not about sex!" John nearly screamed.

Sherlock thought for a few seconds. "Then about what?"

John collapsed on the chair again. "Love" he whispered nearly inaudible "It´s about love, Sherlock. But how could I expect you to understand?"

He cupped his face with his hands, elbows on his knees.

For a few moments there was just the noise from the fridge.

"So you love me?"

John looked up. "Why yes... yes I do."

"Then where´s the problem?"

"Where´s the...?... Sherlock, it´s pretty clear that you don´t return my... feelings!

And it´s OK. I´m moving out and everyone will be fine."

"No!" It was a hard statement.

"What?" John looked puzzled.

"No", Sherlock repeated "you won´t move out."

"Then tell me, why should I stay? Because I wash the dishes and tidy up the flat?"

"Because I enjoy your company."

John looked at him with wide eyes.

"Do you mean it? Cause if it´s one of your experiments again..."

"I mean it. You´re the first one that I can bear to be with longer than an hour. Otherwise I would have found a way to get you out of the flat."

John smiled a little at the last sentence, then his face turned earnest again.

"But that´s not enough."

"Then let me try out something different." with that Sherlock hunkered down before Johns chair. Now they were on eye-level.

The moon shone through the small window and changed the wavelengths of all the colours in the kitchen to different shades of grey to the human eye.

A beam of it caught in Johns eyes and generated a light spot.

With a quick movement Sherlock pressed his lips to John´s.


	4. Chapter 4

His heart made a jump in surprise.

A wave of warmth gently ran through his body and he felt his muscles relax.

His stomach was doing funny things, like he was taking a ride on the london eye and was 443 feet above the ground.

Sherlocks lips were surprisingly soft. His warm breath mingling with his own.

Before he knew it he had wound his arms around Sherlocks neck, burying a hand in his ink-black hair.

Pulling him closer he intensified the kiss, wanting to savour his taste.

So they sat for a few moments - minutes - hours? John had lost track of time and he didn´t care a bit.

Finally they slowly drifted apart. John had his eyes still closed, not wanting this moment to come to an end.

When he opened them dreamily, Sherlock was looking at him, his face only inches away.

There was curiousity sparkling in his blue eyes.

His skin nearly glowed in the pale moonlight entering through the window.

God, how beautiful he was!

"You enjoyed that." A mischievous statement from Sherlock.

John was speechless, his breath still coming short.

"And you´re shivering.", Sherlock continued.

It was true. His hands were shaking, as was his whole body. And it had nothing to do with the time in Afghanistan.

He was giddy with sensation, like a schoolgirl falling in love for the first time. What an embarassing thought.

He was a grown man after all. But it _was_ new to him. Kissing a man...

He smiled. "Yes I did."

Then suddenly reality kicked in again and his smile faded.

"So where does this put us?"

"I guess you´re not moving out." Sherlock smiled a little.

"That´s not what I meant."

All of a sudden the small kitchen seemed incredibly stifling to John.

The silence that followed his comment was bone-crushing.

After what seemed like an eternity Sherlock answered his question with a simple "Wherever you want."

Wherever he wanted...

John bent forward and passionately invaded Sherlocks lips again. This time he explored every inch of his mouth with his tongue.

Without breaking the kiss he glided off the chair, so now both of them were sitting on the kitchen floor.

His arms went round Sherlocks waist and he pressed himself tight to his chest.

When Sherlock left the choice to him, choosing was what he would do.

He shoved aside all the questions that were forming in his mind. Like if Sherlock was even able to feel something like love...

Right now he just wanted him close. He was tired of talking and worrying. He´d had too much of that tonight. Tomorrow was another day.

One hand went under Sherlocks T-Shirt, stroking the soft skin, the other was tousling his hair.

Abruptly John was being lifted up so he was sitting in Sherlocks lap.

Then there was a hand in Johns pants, wandering deeper. It sent shivers down his spine and he couldn´t repress a surprised moan.

Sherlocks smile was wicked.

John felt passion rising even more in his body. He was getting hard.

He tugged at the detectives T-Shirt to get it off him, pressing his lips to every inch of exposed skin.

His mind went dizzy with sensation.

Sherlocks hand in his trousers began to move slowly - sensual.

His moves weren´t very passionate, but precise. And what he did was oh so good.

John was panting. Sherlock still wore that naughty smile.

He seemed to enjoy the reactions John showed to his actions.

The doctor clung tight to the detective, arms round his chest, head pressed to his neck.

He could feel the blood pulsing in his ears. He was almost over the edge.

With a final moan he was done, and the silence returned to the nocturnal kitchen.

He shivered and breathed heavily while Sherlock put a comforting hand on his back.


	5. Chapter 5

When Sherlock opened his eyes, the first thing he realized were some strands of ash blond hair tickling the nerves in his nose.

After the nightly "event" in the kitchen they had ended up on the sofa. John had snuggled against him and instantly fell asleep.

Sherlock too seemed to have dozed off. Even he needed some sleep once in a while.

The living room was lit by the sun shining through the windows. From the shadows it was casting he could tell it was about ten o´clock in the morning.

John should have been at work two hours ago. How would he explain to Sarah?

Well, not his problem, she would have to go without him for one day.

He shifted his head a tiny bit to look at the doctor who was still fast asleep.

He wouldn´t be able to get up without waking him. So he stayed and listened to the soft breathing beside him.

He wasn´t used to so much physical contact, but it bothered him less than he had thought. His left arm had gone numb from lack of blood, but apart from that he felt just _fine_.

Just as he had said last night, he liked having John around.

Although he was often wrong when trying to deduce something, he inspired Sherlock to take a new look at things. This way he noticed details that would otherwise escape him.

Similar to a muse for an artist.

He was being more effective with him at his side.

And he would do nearly everything to keep him there. By his side.


	6. Chapter 6

When John opened his eyes, he was a bit confused at first. His gaze fell upon pale skin, and he realized he had been breathing into Sherlock´s neck.

Sherlock...

The last night came to his mind again and he blushed a bit.

He lifted his head a little to check if the detective was awake as well.

He was. Staring at the ceiling with an earnest concentration. That made John chuckle a bit.

Sherlock´s head whipped around. "Oh good, you´re awake."

The doctor gave him a drowsy smile and shifted his position slightly, so he could rest his head on the other man´s chest.

He could feel his heart beat, strong and even. Sherlock was shirtless, his skin unbelievably soft and warm.

John closed his eyes again, relishing the moment. He could have lain there forever.

"You should call Sarah."

"What?", John asked baffled, violently pulled out of his pleasant thoughts.

"It´s past ten. She will wonder where you are."

"Wha... oh shit!", he exclaimed and jumped up.

He should have been at work more than two hours ago! What was he gonna tell her?

How could he look her in the eye anymore?

He rang his hands and sighed in despair.

Sherlock had sat up on the sofa and was now watching him with interest.

"I´ll just say I got sick, don´t have the nerves for work now...", he said it more to himself than to Sherlock.

"The phone is in the armchair under the pillow.", the detective replied.

When John looked back at him, he continued "It wouldn´t stop ringing."

The doctor didn´t even bother to inquire further. It had probably been Mycroft calling with some ´top secret affair´ again.

He dug the device out of where it was and typed in the number of the surgery. The conversation with Sarah was quick, he told her of some stomach-disease that hit abruptly and apologized for not calling earlier.

She was understanding and caring as always, even asked if she should come over after work to bring him a soup. He denied and lied that it wasn´t that bad and probably gone by tomorrow.

And with a ´get better soon´ they hung up.

He felt bad. Not just for lying to her, but for using her to deafen his fears.

He would have to talk to her, and that wasn´t gonna be easy. Especially when he thought about having to work with her after that.

And there was also the other talk from last night that waited to be continued...

"I need a tea, you want one, too?", he asked already on his way to the kitchen.

"Yes, thank you.", came the voice from the sofa.

Tea always succeeded to calm him, there was nothing better to start the day with.

Sherlock had put on his T-Shirt and dressing gown again and came over to the kitchen. He looked normal, as always, but there were shadows under his eyes.

"Did you even sleep?" John looked at him suspiciously.

"Ye-es", Sherlock replied, sounding a bit like a little boy being asked if he had done his homework.

He grabbed a slice of untoasted bread, leaned against the fridge and nibbled on it while watching John shove aside the various chemicals standing around in the small room.

On every other day the doctor would have complained about the chemical tests Sherlock was constantly doing in the kitchen. But not today.

He had other things on his mind. His heart couldn´t decide if it should bounce with happiness or clench in insecurity.

The medical inside him pointed out that at least he was eating something, which was a good sign.

The tea was ready, smelling delicious. John set the mugs on the small table and pushed one over to Sherlock. Both sat down, sipping the hot liquid.

"So... what you´re gonna do today? Still no case?", John tried to begin a conversation.

The other man just shook his head.

"Then you´ve got nothing to do...?"

"No.", came the prompt answer.

"Maybe... since I´m not going to work... we could tidy up the flat... together...?", suggested the doctor.

Sherlock looked up from the cup he had placed on one of his knees, which he had pulled up to his chest. His face showed the disgust at this idea.

"What? You´re bored anyways.", John insisted.

Everything seemed awkward again. Sherlock acted normal, just as if nothing ever happened. There wasn´t any sign of affection in his behaviour.

John sighed inwards. In every other relationship everything would be perfectly clear at this point, but that was not how it worked with Sherlock.

"Oh, damn it! Just talk to me!", it just broke out of him. His patience was all used up. He wanted answers. Now!

"About what?"

John made an unarticulated noise. Frustrating! It was frustrating to talk to Sherlock about things that didn´t have anything to do with solving crimes.

The black haired man looked at him. Right into his eyes. His face was serious as he slowly lifted his slender white hand. With a casual movement he put it on John´s... and patted it.

Irritated the other man looked at it. He didn´t need to voice the question because Sherlock was already explaining:

"I saw people do this to comfort other people in distress."

"Uh...ok... then thanks... I guess.", John replied distracted by the physical contact.

The hand remained where it was.

"So you want to talk about the intercourse we had?"

"Oh Sherlock, for god´s sake, stop calling it intercourse! That sounds...silly."

"Good. But you want to talk about it."

"Yes, I do", John agreed.

"Which part in particular? From the noises you made I got the impression you quite enjoyed yourself."

The doctor nearly choked on his tea. Blood rose to his cheeks.

"Yes, but... but did you... like it, too? I mean... you kissed me... and...", Johns voice broke off.

"I mean... you don´t show many emotions...", he tried again.

"And you want to know if I feel the way you do.", Sherlock mouthed the question John had in mind.

The blond man could only nod.

Piercing blue eyes were focused on him.

"The truth is, I don´t know."

That gave John´s heart a little sting. His face dropped.

"How can you not know?", he managed to force out.

"Well, you said yourself that I don´t show many emotions, if at all. I never had relationships, so I don´t know how that feels.

I just know that I want you to stay here. As I said last night, I enjoy your company. And you will only stay if you´re happy, kissing and all that stuff makes you happy, doesn´t it?"

John just stared at his flatmate. It was amazing how innocent Sherlock could be in terms of social matters.

A broad grin showed on his face. He leaned over the table.


	7. Chapter 7

Johns face came nearer. His warm breath smelled of tea - Earl Grey to be precise. Their lips met softly.

In the parts where they touched, his nerves tickled a bit. It felt like brushing over a very fine-woven silk shirt.

Soft and nice.

John had his eyes closed, but the smile was still visible in the way his skin crinkled at the corners of his eyes.

Sherlock left his eyes open, he had never understood why people closed them for kissing. He let his gaze wander over the face in front of him. It was harder to focus at such a short distance, but he still managed.

John hadn´t shaved yet this morning, so there were some stubbles visible on his cheeks. He could also feel them where their chins rubbed against eachother.

The doctors ears caught his attention next. They were shaped rather roundly, not big, but still a striking feature. Sherlock put up a hand to trace the spiral pattern inside the right one.

John let out a muffled noise that sounded like "Mmhhmm". Probably a hint that he liked that. Sherlock made a mental note to remember.

They broke the kiss to catch some air - and because leaning over the table wasn´t very comfortable.

John gave Sherlock a big smile. His cheeks were flushed, eyes glistening. Tousled blonde hair stuck out in every direction.

Sherlock couldn´t help but smirk at the sight.

"Well, I think I´m fine with that", John picked up their conversation again, still smiling brightly.

"Good", was the only thing Sherlock could think of to say.

The doctor began to play with the detectives fingers that were still placed on his own, slightly smaller, hand on the table.

Johns hand was rather rough, the skin leathery, a few tiny scars scattered all over it. Not unusual for a soldier, but still interesting.

A few of the grains told him little stories, some of them even seemed to be from distant childhood adventures.

He tipped them lightly with his finger, followed their trail up the strong arm until he reached the hem of the white T-Shirt-sleeve. There he stopped.

There on the shoulder must be the point where the bullet had hit his flatmate.

Sherlock looked up.

John had held still while Sherlock examined the marks on his arm, his eyes tracing the detectives´ moves. Goosebumps rippled where he touched the doctors skin.

Now Johns´ gaze dreamily lingered on Sherlocks´ lips. He was clearly aroused.

Funnily enough deducing this fact gave Sherlock a good feeling, a _really_ good feeling. So he decided to go on.

Nonchalantly he stretched out one of his long legs until he could reach Johns foot under the table. The doctor flinched, having not expected the touch.

Sherlock leisurely stroked his way up to the knee, pausing there for a moment, then further up to the blond mans lap.

John let out a shivering gasp. His hands clenched on the table.

Sherlock could feel the bulge in the fabric of Johns boxers. He pressed his foot down lightly. Another gasp escaped the doctors mouth, followed by a low moan.

The detective smiled wickedly. This promised to be rather interesting. What kind of other sounds could he draw from his friends´ mouth?

He got up and walked round the table to Johns chair. Said man looked up at him feverish, lust as clear in his face as if it was written on his forehead.

He got up, too, rather hasty, nearly knocking over his chair. Then he flung his arms round Sherlocks neck, kissing him desperately.

The detective just put both of his hands at the lower back of his flatmate, and, in a flowing move, lifted him up, turned round and set him on the kitchenette.

John seemed too involved to even be surprised. He just put his legs round Sherlocks slim silhouette, lips moving to his neck.

The doctors mouth was soft and wet against the sensitive skin of his throat. The places where he touched him prickled and sent shivers down his spine.

Sherlock was a little surprised at his own reaction - or rather his bodies´ reaction. But it actually felt _nice._

He had never thought he was prone to this kind of thing, his mind always ruling the body.

Johns hands were now moving to his hips, sneakily finding their way under the detectives T-Shirt. Sherlock arched back a bit, leaning in to the touch.

It happened unconsciously, like a reflex, it seemed his body now had its own ideas of what to do.

That made the first consulting detective feel a little insecure, he was used to being in control. Last night he had been in control, but now he started to loose it.

The black haired man stiffened, trying to clear his mind that had gone a little dizzy.

John seemed to have noticed because he whispered into Sherlocks ear: "Shhh... just relax."

Then he pulled the grey T-Shirt over the detectives head and tossed it into a corner. He immediately applied himself to Sherlocks exposed chest, kissing and licking every inch of it.

When John reached one of his nipples the tall man had a hard time suppressing a deep moan. Oh that was _good_!

A small part of his brain still protested against the new sensations, desperately fighting to regain control, but the bigger part was filled with a wild joy for those exciting new feelings.

As that naughty doctor moved his lips from Sherlocks chest to his ear and began nibbling at it, his mind finally gave up.

The detective ripped off his flatmates´ shirt, tossed it behind him, and flung his arms round Johns neck, frantically kissing him.

They now were merely a hot mess of hands and mouths, pressing their bodies as tight together as possible.

Somehow they managed to get rid of their pants, too. Sherlock pulled Johns legs up on his shoulders and grabbed his bum firmly. Good that the ex-soldier was rather flexible.

Sherlock thrust his hip forward slowly. The response came in the form of a soft sigh. For the detective it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

He pushed on, at first gentle and slow, then more passionately. Johns moans sounded like the purr of a satisfied cat and encouraged Sherlock to thrust even harder.

Now he also couldn´t hold back a sound of pleasure. Their bodies were slick with sweat, barely anything more than a desperate hug, both pulsing with pure lust.

Much too soon they swept over the edge together, orgasm hitting hard. Both were crying out in satisfaction, trembling with sensation.

Holding, supporting each other they sunk into a final deep kiss.


End file.
